


True Love, or the Spare Bedroom

by thesentimentalist



Category: due South
Genre: Canadian Shack, Catholicism, Christmas, Dancing, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Ray Vecchio/Stella - Freeform, Ray Vecchio: Relationship Counselor, come live with me and be my love, my love without pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesentimentalist/pseuds/thesentimentalist
Summary: "Later, as Ray was unpacking, Benny slid into the room and said:'Ray, I was wondering if I might borrow a sleeping bag.''A what now?''A sleeping bag.''Why?''The room your mother put us in only has one bed.'Ray went still. He raised his eyebrows and turned around to look at Benny.'Yeah. Are you two not . . . ?'Fraser looked at him in confusion.Ray made a crude hand gesture.'Oh! Oh, no.' Benny said.There was a pause.'Why not?' "





	True Love, or the Spare Bedroom

**Author's Note:**

> Cerulean-beekeeper wrote:  
> "I really like the idea that Fraser and Kowalski are just so clueless and hopeless and uncertain about approaching each other romantically that it take’s Vecchio’s first visit up to set them up with each other. 
> 
> For the first couple of days, Vecchio’s all like, “Okay, I was pretty sure Benny swung both ways but I can’t believe he’s sleeping with Kowalski and then, as the days pass, his dawning horror he realizes that these two morons have been living together in close quarters for months and neither has made the first move yet and God I don’t believe I, the only heterosexual in this plumbingless shack now has to get my adopted quirky younger brother to hook up with this punk that I like, but only grudgingly and dear lord I hope they wait until I leave to start going at it because there’s only one room in this place.""
> 
> Ask and ye shall receive. Well. Kind of. This isn't exactly that, but its close. Thanks to all the kind people on tumblr who supported me while I was writing this, and to my long suffering friend who betas fic for fandoms she isn't in.

Ray was on the phone with Fraser. It had been a couple of months. He’d gone off on some crazy quest to search for some old boat with Kowalski. But he was back in Inuvik now, and they were chatting away.  
“Now the moose have adopted me into their herd. They stop by the cabin every time they come through.” Fraser said.  
Ray laughed nervously. He worried about Fraser, up there in his shack in the frozen north with no one but Diefenbaker for company. He hoped he was keeping in touch with Kowalski too.  
“So how’s Kowalski?” He finagled.  
“I can ask him.” Fraser said.  
There was a rustling sound, and then a faint:  
“Ray . . . uh . . . Ray wants to know how you’re doing.”  
Huh.  
There was more rustling, and Fraser said:  
“He says he’s fine, thanks for asking.”  
“He’s there with you?” Ray asked.  
“Well He’s down on the ground, there’s only one harness and the telephone poll is—.”  
“In Canada Fraser. Is he with you in Canada?”  
“Ah. Well yes.”  
“You two were gone for what, three months? How’d he squeeze all that leave out of HR?”  
“Oh no. He left the police. He lives here now.”  
“Ah.”  
They chatted for a few more minutes before Fraser had to climb back down the pole on account of the wind picking up. Strange, uncivilized, place Canada. Who ever heard of climbing 20 feet in the air to make a phone call? Jesus.  
Ray sat at the kitchen table, thinking. He’d always thought Benny swung both ways. There’d been something, sometimes, in the way he’d look at a handsome man that’d made Ray think—but only think. Nothing confirmed or denied. But you didn’t walk away from your whole life to go live in the frozen north with a deranged mountie for anything less than True Love.  
That’s when he heard Stella pull into the driveway with the groceries. He hopped out of his chair and went out to help her. Later, as he was stowing come celery in the fridge he asked,  
“Hey, Stella, did your ex Ray swing both ways?”  
She stopped putting oranges in the fruit basket and said,  
“Yes, actually. Why do you . . .?”  
“I think him ‘n’ Benny have shacked up.”  
Stella raised her eyebrows, looking surprised, but not displeased.  
“Good.” she said, “Fraser’s good for him. Keeps him line. Makes sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”  
“I just hope he can keep Benny from doing anything stupid.”  
Stella snorted.  
“Fraser? That boy scout? ”  
“Stella, honey, you have no idea. Have I ever told you about the time he locked us in a flooding bank vault?”  
. . .  
The next time Ray saw Benny, or Kowalski for that matter, was at Christmas. Every year, all the Vecchios—nuclear, extended, and honorary—gathered in Chicago to eat food, raise hell, and go to midnight Mass.  
Ray’d intimated to Ma that Ray and Fraser might appreciate their own room. She’d taken it with surprising grace.  
“You know, I always knew.” She said, “The way all those beautiful women threw themselves at Benton, and he never noticed! Anyway, I like Kowalski. He’s a little rough around the edges, but he makes Benton happy. And lord knows that boy deserves a little happiness.”  
“That he does, Ma,” Ray said, “that he does.”  
Ray and Stella arrived two days before Christmas. They were unpacking when they heard the front door open, followed by the unmistakable sound of Inuit folklore.  
Benny and Kowalski were barely over the threshold before they were swarmed with Vecchios.  
“Benny!” Ray said, pulling him into a hug and giving him a hearty thumping on the back.  
Ray watched as Ma and Franny fussed over them. He didn’t say anything, but he was a little concerned about things being awkward between Kowalski and Stella. As the welcome party started to dissipate he saw Benny nudge Kowalski in the ribs and jerk his head towards him and Stella.  
He walked over and rubbed the back of his head.  
“So how’s it going?” He asked, “How’s the bowling business?”  
“Well.” Said Stella, “We just got a bowling league.”  
“Ah! That’s great news!” Kowalski said.  
Benny made his way over.  
“You said something about a small kitchen fire the last time we spoke?” he said expectantly.  
“Stella’s teaching me to cook.” Ray said. “Growing up in an Italian family, boys don’t really learn, but she is having none of that.”  
“And how’s that going?”  
“Well, I’m allowed to peel vegetables unsupervised.”  
“He tried to make a baked potato in the microwave and set the kitchen on fire.” Stella interjected. “We’re taking baby steps.”  
Kowalski and Fraser burst suddenly and bewilderingly into song.  
“Oh, no, don’t slay that potato what never done nothing to you!”  
Stella laughed.  
Ray stared at them. At least, he thought, Kowalski and Stella were getting along.  
. . .  
Later, as Ray was unpacking, Benny slid into the room and said:  
“Ray, I was wondering if I might borrow a sleeping bag.”  
“A what now?”  
“A sleeping bag.”  
“Why?”  
“The room your mother put us in only has one bed.”  
Ray went still. He raised his eyebrows and turned around to look at Benny.  
“Yeah. Are you two not . . . ?”  
Fraser looked at him in confusion.  
Ray made a crude hand gesture.  
“Oh! Oh, no.” Benny said.  
There was a pause.  
“Why not?”  
Fraser turned an alarming shade of red, but before he could respond, Franny’s kid came barreling through the door and attached himself to Ray’s leg.  
. . .  
Later that night, as Ray was trying and failing to fall asleep, he said,  
“They aren’t together.”  
“What?” Stella asked, rolling over on the pillow to face him.  
“Kowalski and Fraser. They’re not together.”  
“Fraser was giving him the look of spousal disapproval.” Stella said.  
“I don’t understand it either.” Ray said, “But Fraser specifically denied that he and Ray are together.”  
Stella flopped back down on the pillow.  
“Huh.” she said.  
. . .  
After that initial awkwardness, things went off without a hitch. Christmas Eve came with the usual bustle and excitement. Stella gave him a cookbook. He gave her a pair of pumps he’d seen her eyeing at the store. They gave Fraser and Kowalski socks and hats made from alpaca wool from the fair trade store Stella’d found. Fraser and Kowalski got them a large supply of bug repellent made from an old Canadian recipe. Ray didn’t ask what was in it.  
When Fraser handed Kowalski a large, lumpy package, Ray leaned forward in his chair. Experience told him that any gift from Benny was bound to be something interesting to say the least.  
Benny did not disappoint.  
Kowalski tore open the paper to reveal something dark and fuzzy.  
“Is this . . .” he asked, pulling yards and yards of soft, furry, material from the package, “a bear skin?”  
Benny grinned. Actually, full on, grinned.  
“Remember that bear Ruth shot in July? Well . . .” he said, gesturing at the bear skin, “you were complaining about how cold your room gets at night so I thought I’d take initiative.”  
Kowalski was clearly tickled, and while Franny, Stella, et al. pestered Benny for the story of Ruth and the bear, Ray digested the fact that Kowalski and Benny were sleeping in separate rooms.  
Jeez. It was worse than he thought.  
. . .  
9pm found them gathered around a huge table, tucked in the back corner of Clemenza’s. They were digging into the bruschetta when the band struck up a tarantella. Kowalski began tapping the beat against the edge of the table with his knife and fork.  
“The tarantella,” Fraser said, “was developed to cure tarantism, a disease caused by the bite of the Lycosa tarantula, which supposedly caused the sufferer to dance uncontrollably. The family of the tarantate would hire specialized musicians to play a specific song. After several days of dancing, the person would be cured.”  
Ray’s brother in law leaned towards him and whispered,  
“Who is this guy again?”  
Ray just chuckled and shook his head.  
Kowalski, still tapping the table, was leaning in and watching Fraser with a soft smile on his face.  
Ray nudged Stella in the ribs and tilted his head in Kowalski’s direction.  
She looked, looked at Kowalski, looked at Fraser, and then back at Ray himself, fighting a losing battle against a smile.  
Suddenly, Kowalski hopped up, dropping his utensils on the table, and grabbed Fraser by the arm.  
“Come on Frase, you’re learning the tarantella.”  
He dragged him onto the dance floor and demonstrated the footwork, crossing one foot over the other and stepping clockwise in a circle before coming back around counter clockwise.  
As the next song started, Kowalski grabbed Benny by the hands and pulled him into the fray. Kowalski smiled and dropped Benny’s hands, holding his own just a hair’s breadth out of reach as they began circling each other, moving apart and then drawing back together. Benny replicating the footwork with accuracy that would have been remarkable if he hadn't been himself.  
As they came together, Kowalski allowed the tips of their fingers to brush, smiling up at Benny from beneath his eyelashes before he went spinning away again. Fraser turned red, and something told Ray it wasn’t just the exertion.  
Ray rolled his eyes.  
“For god’s sake.” he said.  
Stella laughed silently, and took his hand.  
“Let’s join them.” she said.  
And they did.  
. . .  
All the dancing must have tired Kowalski out, because he fell asleep on Fraser’s shoulder 15 minutes into Mass. They were packed into the last row of pews. Ma, Stella, Ray, Fraser, and Kowalski—in that order. Ray only noticed when the priest asked the congregation to stand, and Fraser didn’t. He looked over at him and saw the Kowalski was slumped against Fraser’s side: eyes closed, head tucked into Fraser’s shoulder, breathing deep and even. He looked up at Rey apologetically, and seemed to be warring with the desire to be polite and the need to let Kowalski go on sleeping. In the end, the latter won, and Ray made a dismissive gesture and mouthed “its fine” before joining in “We Three Kings”.  
As the night wore on and the sermon ran long, everybody started to look a little glazed over. But things began to wind down at 11:50, and came to a stop in time for the bells. As they struck 12, Ray turned to look at Fraser again.  
At some point, Fraser had draped his coat over Kowalski. Now he sat silently, just watching him. He didn’t seem to notice that Mass had ended. He probably wouldn’t notice if the world ended.  
“Benny.” Ray said, poking Fraser in the arm.  
Fraser started as if he just been awoken from a deep trance, and looked up at him.  
“Mass is over.”  
Fraser muttered something unintelligible and sheepish, and nudged Kowalski awake.  
. . .  
“I don’t understand what’s going on with them.” Ray said, shimmying on his boxers, “I mean, they are interested in each other, right? You saw them dancing. You can’t mistake that kind of passion!”  
Stella looked thoughtful.  
“Now, I don’t know Fraser very well,” she said, “but after what you’ve told me, I think it stands to reason that he might have some lingering issues with relationships and intimacy.”  
Ray snorted, shook his head, and came over a little pale.  
“Ray is the same way. Some of that is my fault,” Stella said, looking down, “and I’m sorry for that. The point is that neither of them have the best track record with romance. Maybe the reason they aren’t together isn’t so much because they don’t want to be, as it is because they’re too afraid to start. Maybe they need a push in the right direction first.”  
Ray nodded.  
“Maybe you should talk to Fraser.”  
“Maybe.”  
. . .  
Ray caught Benny alone, packing, while Kowalski was getting a cab.  
“Listen, Benny,” he said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly and looking at the wall somewhere to his left, “about Kowalski. I have to say my piece.”  
Fraser turned around and looked at him nervously.  
“I think you’re in love with him.” Ray said, “And I think he’s in love with you too. Now it’s none of my business what you two decide to do, but I think you make each other happy. And I think you could be happier if you were more honest with each other about what you feel.”  
Fraser didn’t respond. Ray didn’t dare look at him. The silence dragged on and on and for a moment Ray thought he’d made a terrible mistake, but then he heard Fraser inhale deeply, as if he were about to say something.  
Ray looked up.  
Fraser was looking down at his shoes.  
“How . . . how do you know he feels the same way?” he asked in a small voice.  
Ray’s heart broke a little.  
“Jesus Christ Benny!”  
“What?”  
Ray threw his hands in the air, turned around, and began pacing back and forth in front of Fraser, muttering to himself.  
“I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to explain this to you! For crying out loud, I—.”  
He stopped abruptly and turned back to face Fraser.  
“Benny, remember how you felt when you moved to Chicago? How lost you were?” He asked, pointing at Fraser, “Because you missed your home right? You had to leave behind everything you knew and come to this awful place?”  
Fraser nodded slowly, watching Ray carefully for any signs of a further outburst.  
“Well that’s what Kowalski did, quitting his job and moving up there with you, Benny.” Ray said, jabbing Fraser in the chest with his index finger, “That’s what he did for you.”  
For a moment Fraser’s face was blank. Then his eye got very, very, wide.  
Kowalski’s voice floated up from downstairs. “Frase! The cab’s here!”  
Fraser’s head snapped towards the open door, face fraught with panic and, perhaps, hope.  
Ray smiled beatifically and clapped him on the shoulder.  
“Go get your man, Benny.”  
Fraser gulped, nodded, and strode determinedly towards the door.  
. . .  
The next time Ray and Fraser talked was three weeks later. He was sitting at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes while Stella made pasta.  
“Ray, I was wondering if you could settle an argument for us.” Fraser said.  
“Sure thing.”  
“I say that beige is a shade of brown, while Ray maintains that it is a shade of white.”  
“I’m pretty sure its a shade of brown.” Ray said.”, flicking a ribbon of potato into the bowl.  
He heard Fraser lean away from the phone to shout down to Kowalski:  
“It's a shade of brown!”  
Then he leaned back into the phone.  
“Ray made a rude hand gesture.”  
Ray chuckled.  
“Why the sudden decorating crisis?” He asked.  
“Ah, well. We’re turning Ray’s old room into a guest room, and we’ve run into some difficulty matching furniture and paint.”  
“I see.” Ray said, dropping the potato, knife and all into the bowl so he could silently punch the air.  
Stella looked over at him expectantly.  
“Glad to hear it.”


End file.
